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“I don’t really know. Growing up, I looked up to them. After losing my mom, I think I secretly hoped I would grow close to them. Not for them to replace my mom or anything, but because I just would’ve loved to have another woman in my life to confide in. It wasn’t that at all, though. They put up with me because of Kevin, that’s all.”
“They sound awful. I can state for a fact that Rosalina is, but I’m sure I’ll think the same of the other two.”
“Yes. But still, I feel bad for them.”
I laughed. “You can’t feel bad for the villains.”
“Of course, you can. That’s what makes us different than them.”
“It doesn’t change who they are.”
“Maybe you’re right.” She narrowed her eyes as she poked at the pancakes. “I’m scared that I’ll never be able to tell the difference between what’s a trauma response for me or not.”
“You can do it.”
“How do you know?”
“Because you’re you, and you can do anything.” That seemed like a line from a corny rom-com movie, but she could. “You just need to find the right people to help you. If needed, I’ll be your person. You can come to me when you feel overwhelmed or confused about anything.”
Her face reddened as if she were embarrassed by what I’d offered. “No, Damian. I can’t ask you to do that for me.”
“I want to.”
“Why?”
“Because I like you.” She laughed, baffled by my compliment. I arched an eyebrow. “Why is that funny?”
“Because it doesn’t make sense. You don’t like me.”
“Yes, Stella, I do.”
“What is it that you like about me?” she asked.
“Even if I answered that—which I easily could—you wouldn’t believe me.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because how could you believe what I like about you when you don’t even know how to like yourself.”
“I like myself,” she claimed. “At least, certain parts.”
“Okay, great.” I slid my hand into the pockets of my slacks and leaned against the wall. “Then you tell me.”
“Tell you what?”
“What you like about yourself.”
Her lips parted, and then she froze. I could almost see her mind working in overdrive, trying to quickly grab something—anything—to offer me. But nothing came. She shut her lips. Her eyes watered over. All I wanted to do, all I ever wanted to do lately, was give her comfort. That was eating at my soul because all I wanted to do was wrap her up in my arms and let her know that she was going to be okay.
“When did I stop loving myself?” she whispered. Her voice cracked, which, in turn, made my cold heart crack, too.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe when the world lied to you and said you were unworthy of being loved.”
“You’ll really help me find myself?”
“If you’d like my help. I won’t overstep my welcome if you want this to be a solo thing.”
“No, I, well, I’d like…” She swallowed hard and smiled. I wanted more of that. I wanted more of her smiles. “I’d like your help with this.”
“Then my help is all yours.”
She smiled more.
I thought about kissing her.
I didn’t, of course, but the thought lived there.
Her phone rang, and I saw Jeff’s name pop up. I didn’t know why that made a ting of jealousy hit me.
“Ugh. I should get ready to go talk to Jeff.” She stood from the bed and wiped her hands clean on a napkin. “Thank you, Damian.”
“Always, Stella.”
I said always, and the messed-up thing was I think I meant it, too.
Her hand almost touched mine as she placed the napkin down on the tray.
It didn’t, of course, but I wished it would’ve.
As she started to hop away on her crutches, I began to speak, making her pause in place. “I like the way you notice things. How observant you are when no one’s looking. How you smile at the clouds and every yellow flower you walk by. How you whistle in the shower, how you speak out loud to yourself. How you love people. Your artwork. Your talent. Your eyes. That’s superficial, and screw the superficial, but I love your eyes. I like the way you hum to the radio and listen when others are talking. I like how you move. I like how your body curves. And I like your heart. How it still beats even after everything life has done to it,” I said. Her back was still to me as I watched her body slightly trembling from nerves due to my words. I didn’t mean to make her emotional, but I needed her to know that so many things about her were worthy of love. I cleared my throat. “Just in case you needed a list of things that there were to like about yourself.”
She turned my way rheumy-eyed. “Damian?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m glad you’re my husband.”
I didn’t say it, but I was a lucky bastard to have such a beautiful woman as my wife.
